Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ The Underclassman's Journal ❯ Entry 1: First Strokes of Introduction ( Chapter 1 )

The Stars are gleaming high above us

Silly, raging and pestering sounds

In this world today, we're moments a part

But as close as we are, our dreams are still taking root below this shaky ground

Take my hand,

You won't find me

Take my mind,

You can only excite me

Take my beating and grinning heart-

It's already making a home deep within the moments we've kept in your hands

 

_________________

~The Underclassman's Journal

Entry 1: “First Strokes of Introduction”

A/N: Disclaimer: Copy Rights for the characters other than the Narrator don't belong to me.

A/N: (This style of writing focuses on the human transitions between inner narrative and a report of a daily stream of active consciousness. The background and basic details of the Narrator aren't meant to be given in a single chapter/entry). You'll learn more about them as the entries progress.

 

 

 

“I can't do this!” I groaned in a frustrated pitch of agony as I swung one of my swords into a side wall; I was at least trying to accomplish something tonight, but to no avail.

“Why is it that every time I try something new, I get a high off of the adrenaline, but can't focus it into a lousy attack?” I yelled again in anger as the wall (as if to mock my attempt), began to quietly crack. This wall knew that I had been spending more than half the day swinging my dual Zanpaku-to around—And by the hour, this wall had smiled at me as a lingering reminder that I seriously had to develop my fighting style. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the tile beneath me; It was cold and inviting, and this shinigami needed a well deserved dose of relaxation.

I laid there sweating, panting, and for the first time in a while, wondering if training served me any purpose. My Zanpaku-to; all of my blood, pride, and all of those breaths I took screaming into the night was the only thing sustaining me here. Without Ringoka, or as I call him, “Rin,” I probably wouldn't be able to hold a threat, let alone a sword to anyone. This even applied to the snot nosed and blubbering idiots dwindling within the lower ranks of the squads. Ringoka knew, or tolerated that I needed his power to help me drive far more than a blade into an enemy's beating heart. With every inch, I showed them menace, with every inch, I released the flowering blood cells out of their bodies, with every moment, I gave them the opportunity to cling onto their pathetic and one destined lives. The sight of blood in my mind's eye made me smile, or `smirk' per se.

With each passing day, I'm becoming a pig dieting on carnage, and I don't have trouble admitting it. What can I say? All of these extensive training hours are starting to take a toll on my attitude toward enjoying my fights. And (to change the topic to something playful)-Renji can surprisingly always manage to show me his usual snort of disapproval. No idea as to why, the snort's a teensy bit hypocritical if you ask me. Speaking of lieutenants—

“Ms. Tomomura!” The faint signs of the low ranking spiritual pressure I felt earlier finally collapsed through the door. Poor thing. Even as adorable as he was with his un proportional bowl hair cut, tiny frame, and frightened eyes, it took some of my strength to prevent me from wincing in annoyance. He bowed before me as if I was nobility—that in itself was a load of dung. He was probably only thanking me for beating the pulp out of the prison guards the other day for making fun of his hair cut. It wasn't an easy job at my level, but as long as I was able to defend the sliver of pride that he had in him, I was satisfied.

Gathering my strength, the least I could do for that `thank you' was bend down to meet him. It could've been considered to be mockery, but what could I do?

“Here, just call me Zagami, or `Ziggy' if you want a better name to remember.” I'm apologizing ahead of time for the sad and shortened variation of my name. The nickname was given to me through a combination of a few friends out of affection and other squad members who considered it odd that a Japanese name for a female began with a `Z'.

Anyway, I smiled again and I could tell that a sign of relief swept over him. My Grandfather always told me that the least you could do to thank someone is to thank them at their level of respect. Yet, even as warm as the post introduction was, he stammered.

“Y-yes, Ms—I mean, Zagami. Sorry for the intrusion, but Lieutenant Matsomoto requests for you to come see her.” In this instant, like my friend Shingo here, I literally felt every nerve of my body relax. Even though it was a little awkward rank wise to befriend someone like her, I couldn't help but being attached to the woman. More so, due to the fact that she was (strictly) the only person that knew about my little…problem.

“So, can I assume—I mean, sorry! -Report to her that you'll be coming shortly?” From the sound of that tone, I could tell that Matsomoto hadn't wasted any time instructing her errand boy about what needed to be done. Come to think of it, she wasn't the most patient soul when it came to receiving her responses either.

“Yeah, you're accurate in assuming all right. But don't bother reporting back. I need the exercise, so I'll just talk to her myself.” My reference to exercise wasn't just an excuse. Over the past few weeks, due to a couple of post training binges on food, I had started to grow a nasty pouch where my lower abdominals should be. If I wanted to avoid bulging out of my gi, the least that I could do was walk some of it off.

Anyway, about 5 minutes out of my divisions' training ground, I found myself being pushed up against a wall by an angry group of 7th and 8th seat bullies. As much as I valued my life, in all honesty, I was much more afraid of squad member Subochi's rabid breath than anything. What? It made me want to hurl.

“You think that you're gonna' get away with that stunt that you pulled on squad 11 yesterday?” With every third word, I felt a hot spatter of man saliva on my face. I'm a calm shell on the outside, but how am I supposed to deal with this…crap?

“Hmm, noting the fact that you've waited more than ten hours to get your little gang together, I think that'd be a yes?” Like his well aimed spit fire, I spat him a bit of confidence. Even in the Soul Society at times, one of the most truthful things I've learned (some credit to Gramps) is that men hated it when women surpassed them in confidence.

The Subochi creature growled. Two points, no 5 to me for igniting his frustration. “I'm seconds away from ripping that pretty little tongue of yours out of your throat, woman,” Yay, five more for the prolonged death threat. If someone can throw me against a hard wall and can still manage to keep my ego steady; this guy had no experience.

“If you expect me to apologize,” I laughed here as if he was just a friend playing a joke on a comfortable summer's day. “I'd rather you rip out my tongue. But then again, with your rank being so dreadfully low under Captain Kenpachi's—Why should I worry?” Would the Subo-freak pose any threat to me? Statistic wise, if I were to take him on alone, I'd win without any question with a 25% mortality rate. This guy adored Kenpachi to the point where he tried to remodel his Zanpaku-to after his—flaws and all, but couldn't harbor its agility.

However, if this group of what, 4, 5, crap 6, took me on as one, I can only hope to squeeze out of the fight with a few broken ribs and a fixable busted jaw. It's pathetic that I can't just naturally exude enough spiritual pressure to crush them. What? It's been a fantasy of mine to step into a crowded training ground -and like Yamamoto, Tosen, or the loveable Kenny—force any potential threats into submission with the crack of a finger. Ever since Gramps dragged me into this realm of over and under testosteroned shinigami, achieving the highest rank possible has been my only goal. Then again…

“That's it, you're going to get what you're asking for, wench!—“ Subochi's most powerful attack; his sinister and sizzling hot breath scorched my nostrils. All right, Zig—you've gotten yourself into a pot hole, and the least you can do is try your best to crawl out of it.

In this instance, I pulled a couple of things:

I bit my lip to prepare for early impact and

-Took a few seconds to lift the hilt of one of my dual pieces out of their home on my back.

Either way, the impact came, but ended up piercing my left shoulder with a quick but forceful punch. The punch, (trying to disregard that it was painful enough to have me stagger), began to pump adrenaline into my reaction time. Once the attack came, I grabbed Ringoka's hilt, and swung him to etch a blow into Subo's torso. After this was said and done, I wanted a quick and easy get away without any bloody remnants. These types of injuries were mild enough to signal a captain from a mile off. And let's be honest—There is no way in hell that I'm going to push my `womanly' confidence with one of those 13 giants.

With Subo's comrades witnessing their fearless front man's torso get cut like a steak, they scrambled over each other to reach the nearest exit. Yet, pity for them that the adrenaline kick was still throbbing; Like Ringoka himself would surely do if I could actually summon Bankai—I used the grip off of the gravel on the ground to help propel me into the air in a jump, and landed on the shoulders of one of the fleeing henchmen.

This was turning into more of a comedy than anything. Trying to avoid focusing on the pain in my shoulder blade, I tightened my hold on his fat, little neck and knocked the side of his skull with the hilt of my blade. Like what us humans call dominoes—it created that same effect by each under classed shinigami falling one after the other hard onto the ground. THANK the Gods for the saying, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

With a new two man set of bodies rolling in agony on the ground, I took another stab at their pride by walking `casually' in between them to make my mistake; My mistake of thinking that a shinigami at the `D' level could walk away from a two pronged attack unscathed. Within ten feet of the crime scene, my knees buckled under the weight of my body. My shoulder twinged in irritation and began to soak in its own blood. Gah, there was no way that I could possibly smile this gash off. Thinking rationally, and to avoid meeting any lurking 3rd seats or lieutenant captains, I should just scratch going to see Matsomoto-son. But “argh,” when it comes down to what I can handle and what I can't—(I'm only human), so 4th Division Medical Center it is..(unfortunately).

Well, back to my present situation. Here I am, lying on my side, panting and trying to use my core and leg muscles to fight off the throbbing pressure in my shoulder. Can I do this? Here I go—Damnit, I haven't felt this bad since I tried to challenge the 11th squad's assistant captain..(I keeping forgetting the tiny girl's name)- to a duel. Anyway, how did it go? Let's say (for my pride's sake), that I ended up sprawled on the ground unconscious within a record minute and a half. For the first minute, I had to endure her reluctance or..'sympathy' for a lower level shinigami wanting to `fight' her. Looking back, the idea was laughable in and of itself.

During that time, she was giggling like a school girl as she clung to Captain Kenpachi's back. When facing him, her head bobbed over his enormous shoulder as she, (all smiles) would say, “Mmm, I always like challenges, but I'm not really in the mood to kill anyone right now. And, I don't want to get your gi dirty from all the blood that you're going to spill ^o^” (Adorable, yet mischievous happy face-pun intended).

However, trying to disregard that I literally had a group of other reapers insisting for me to heed to her kindness and walk away—blame my ego—But I had to see how far my limits would reach. Heck, I even tried to threaten her by readying my hands on the hilt of my blade to strike—bad idea. I'm not sure how it happened, how I was standing, or what I was doing prior to that, but I suddenly felt a tide of repressed spiritual pressure flow in my direction from where she was bouncing across from me. The energy spiraled through my senses; almost as if I had taken a plunge into the deepest of oceans. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe… And after another fifteen seconds, my body had hit the ground with a cinematic `thud'.

//o//

As the sun twinkled above my eyes—with as beautiful and bright as it was, it was still eons away from meeting me, yet still managed to prickle and graze across my skin. This is a completely irrelevant observation on how the artifacts of time and space connect, but this (for some reason) reminds me about how close the source of my little problem is to me.

It's odd that I've rightfully only chosen to tell Matsomoto-son about its shifts through my daily routine. When I met her for the first time, I was intimidated by her authority and how dominant her personality was compared to mine. Yet at the same time, it motivated me to talk—and get to know her on a personal level, aside from the shrewd remarks made from the rest of her squad. Within a few years of fighting Captain Hitsugaya's constant suspicion as to why an underclassman was hanging around her courters—I had finally established a bit of trust with her. From that point on, Matsomoto and I had become long term drinking buddies; or rather—two friends who entrusted each other to enjoy the other's company when they had the most potential to crack emotionally.

“So, Zagami..you've got to tell me about this `secret' thing that you mention, and swirl into another topic to avoid,” Matsomoto-son would lightly interrogate before falling back into a chair and gleefully swinging a bottle of sake'. The woman, in truth, was still a threat to the subconscious, even while she was a glass away from being drunk.

“Well, it's kinda..crap, I can't even get over how much its eaten away at my independence,” I'd try to plan to win her over with sympathy. Shame that luck in that category only comes around once. But, gah—this was a lieutenant I was talking to; If anything went wrong, she'd easily be able to pummel the stuffing out of them before I'd ask her to.

“Well, Matsomoto, have you ever wanted to have something close to you—even if you knew that it could easily destroy you from the inside?”

`Love and Progression,' my Grandfather would always tell me, `Are the only two elements standing a part from your desire and revolutionizing your potential to take the next seat in the next generation of Shinigami.'

 

//o// (Entry 1 Concluded)

~Tomomura, Zagami